Rachel Lee - Playing with Fire

He wanted to pat his own back for how well they’d handled the whole thing. It hadn’t spread to neighboring houses, although that was always a huge risk in town, what with all these old buildings so close together. Dried out by the years, their frames and siding were practically tinder.

Kind of surprising they hadn’t lost the whole house. The interior was wasted, but a contractor should be able to fix that.

“Great job,” said the chief, clapping his shoulder briefly before moving on to the next fireman.

Randy beamed, then pulled himself up onto the truck. A few seconds later, Jeff Corner hopped up beside him. “That was a beaut,” Jeff said.

“It sure was,” Randy agreed. As the truck started moving, he saw the stranger in the business suit drive away. “Who was that woman talking to the chief?”

“Dunno. Heard him tell her to meet him at the station.”

“Girlfriend?” Randy suggested. They both laughed. “That’ll drive Donna crazy.”

“You think he moves in those kinds of circles? That was a fancy suit.”

“Wish we saw more of that around here. Damn, I want a cigarette.”

Jeff laughed again. “You know what the chief thinks of smoking in public.”

“Considering the amount of smoke we breathe on the job, why should he care?”

“Public image,” Jeff said knowingly. “Haven’t you heard? Gotta be a good example for kids.”

The familiar jolting began as they rolled down the street. They weren’t a big fire department and didn’t have the fanciest equipment, so they hung on to the rear of the truck since they all couldn’t fit inside.

Eventually, Jeff and Randy would graduate to inside seats and younger men would stand here. But even hanging on here was better than being a volunteer, those who responded only when needed.

Soon the summer would dry out the grasslands and firefighting would sometimes become a full-time job for them all. Randy liked those times best, not only working to beat back the flames but because firefighters came from everywhere to help out. When they weren’t actually facing the flames it was like a big party. A tired party, but still.

And those were the times he felt best about himself. People treated them all like heroes. He guessed they were, actually. Today they’d saved a woman and a baby.

He hadn’t known about the baby. No one had. “Say, Jeff?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you think no one knew there was a baby in there until Old Man Kroner shouted it out? Was it, like, a secret, or something?”

“I dunno,” Jeff answered, leaning as the truck turned into the station. “I thought everyone around here knew everything about everyone.”

“Yeah. Kinda weird.”

“Well, it looked like it was just born. Maybe the grapevine didn’t reach us yet.”

“Maybe.” Randy pondered that as the truck slowed to a halt. One of the advantages of being in such a small town was you knew who might be in a dwelling when you responded. People didn’t get easily overlooked. Which made the Buell arson even weirder. Someone who’d burn a house full of people was scary.

It was troubling, something Randy hoped would be solved—and soon.

* * *

Charity walked into the firehouse through a side door just as the final truck rolled up and joined two others in the bay. A young woman with red hair, wearing a comfortable dark blue station uniform, sat at the desk. Those uniforms were designed not to impede movement, as they were worn under the turnout suits, and designed not to ignite easily. Over her breast, a shield was embroidered, her last name below it.

The woman sat facing a wide plate-glass window that looked into the truck bay, surrounded by consoles and equipment. Her eyes widened as she took in Charity’s apparel.

Definitely going to have to change into native garb, Charity decided. Soon. “Hi, I’m Charity Atkins, arson investigator for the Buell fire. The chief has an appointment with me and he told me to wait here for him.” She wondered if she imagined the flash of instant dislike on the woman’s face, then brushed it aside. A lot of people, including officials, didn’t like arson investigators. Or maybe it was the suit.

The woman stood and offered her hand. “Donna Willem, fire inspector and admin, former smoke eater. Have a seat. Help yourself to coffee.”

Charity looked at the dregs in the pot and decided to do without. She took the simple metal chair and summoned a smile for Donna. “Thanks. Why former?”

Donna patted her hip. “I took a fall during a barn fire. Can’t climb ladders anymore, and frankly carrying the equipment got painful, too.” She sat. “We’re not so busy that I don’t get bored.” She held up an e-reader. “But I do read lots of good books.”

Charity laughed. “There are advantages to most things. I volunteered with a fire department for a while.”

“Yeah?” Interest sparked in Donna’s gaze. “Why’d you quit?”

“It was a temporary thing from the start. Sort of job training so I’d be a better arson investigator.”

“Ah.” Donna studied her as if she didn’t much care for Charity. It had to be the expensive suit. “Arson infuriates me.”

“Me, too. Do you see much of it?”

“Kids sometimes get careless. But in the past year or so...” She shrugged. “Sometimes things come in bunches. Chief says three fires have been arson, including the last one at the Buell Ranch. Say, can you tell me something?”

Charity tensed. Her investigations had to remain private. “If I can.”

“Edna Buell’s a friend of mine. I’m worried about her and her family. Does your insurance cover arson? I’ve always wondered.”

Well, that was easy. “Unless the arsonist is the owner of the property or his agent, yes.”

“Good.” Donna swiveled her chair a bit as if trying to loosen up some back muscles. “Must be difficult to figure out sometimes.”

“It’s always difficult.” Even more difficult when you had some guy with loads of money breathing down your neck and you suspected he’d gotten tired of owning that building. Or couldn’t pay the taxes or upkeep. Some guy who could afford to pay some slime to start the fire. But you had to prove it.

“You gonna be here long?”

Charity shrugged. “Only as long as it takes me to clear the Buells. A few days, I hope.”

“Bet you work with cops, too?” Donna asked.

“When it’s needed.”

“Must be an interesting job.”

Charity nodded, watching through the plate-glass window as the next important tasks were carried out. No rest for the weary. Equipment had to be cleaned, checked out and stowed. Then the truck would get babied. No relaxation for these men for hours yet to come. By the time they hit the showers, they’d be dead on their feet, probably.

Fighting a fire took a lot out of person, she’d learned. Not just the weight of all their equipment, but the heat inside the protective gear, the inevitable adrenaline rush, a lot of hard labor... Fatiguing. This hadn’t been a terrible fire—they’d only battled it for an hour or so—but they were guzzling water from bottles as if they’d spent a week in the Sahara.

A door to one side of Donna opened and Chief Wayne Camden stepped in. He was swigging from a water bottle, too, and his hair was damp. He must have just showered, because the soot was gone.

He wore the simple blue uniform of this department, with black work boots on his feet. Apparently he didn’t always follow the custom of white shirt for higher-ranking members. For the first time she noted that he was tall, lean and muscular. Staying in shape was important in this job for a variety of reasons, and he apparently knew it. His hair looked almost black, maybe because it was still wet, but his eyes were a silvery gray that reflected some of the blue in his uniform.